Star Wars: Gleaners
by Mazzic's Folly
Summary: The Clone Wars have just begun. In a battle lost to the footnotes of history, a small crew of scavengers glean what worth they can from the detritus of war. Ties in heavily to concepts from the Clone Wars cartoon. That said, all characters are original.
1. Chapter 1

Star Wars

* * *

Gleaners

Chapter I

Part 1

The blue-white binary shone through the clouds of Paska Minor, but Captain Baxta could see only the hazy glare of its light. An insectoid Gand, Baxta possessed compound eyes, an asset for a gleaner, where spotting tiny details among the detritus of war was an asset. Baxta was riding a Swoop, driving it through the tangled battlefield of manufactured warriors. The rest of his team was approaching from different directions, as was their custom. Scavengers such as themselves stood a better chance of survival as isolated bystanders on the fringes of a battle, not clumped together in squads where a battle droid may classify them as a band of insurgents. Even holstered weapons have been known to draw fire here. Baxta signaled to his team using the tight-beam transmitter on his gauntlet, and shifted direction towards the target. Radio silence was crucial here. No one liked gleaners. Parasites that fed on the broken treasure of galactic politics. But they had been a part of every planet's bloody history since civilization's dawn, and survived each one's collapse. They were the galaxy's carrion, and this war had become a grand corpse indeed.

Paska Minor was the site of a significant battle, between the Confederacy of Independent Systems and the Galactic Republic. The particulars of the engagement mattered little to captain Baxta, although the nature of his job necessitated that he be familiar with them. The Republic's Golden Sun fleet arrived in orbit to attack the Separatist naval and ground forces defending this breadbasket world. Led by one Admiral Do'vey, the Golden Sun fleet suffered minimal losses. The C.I.S. warships scattered, Do'vey's picket line held, and as streaks of twisted metal striped the sky, Baxta soon saw the triangular arrowheads of Republic Acclamator-class assault barges descend from orbit, blue fire lancing out into C.I.S. positions. That was 9 hours ago, as seen from a muddy blind in the foothills overlooking the valley. Now, the battle was over. The C.I.S. was routed, their myriad war machines scattered along trenchlines and duracrete fortifications. As Baxta sped over the flat terrain, his compound eyes took in a dozen minor details each second, processing everything.

This was a once a Nysillum field, not long ago. That much was clear from the rotting plants littering the few places not ravaged by recent combat. The herb grew only in specific soil and was used in the production of the healing solution Bacta. The C.I.S. had scant need for medicinal crops, but to the flesh and blood Grand Army of the Republic, it was a strategic asset. So as the Separatists dug in, they evicted countless Paskan farmers and let the fields run fallow. Baxta sped over a clump of armored B2 battle droids, shredded by the particle shrapnel of an Acclamator's turbolaser batteries. These had been felled in the initial assault, useless as salvage. No, the real merchandise lay further in, among the battlements. That was where the fighting went hand-to-hand. Low-Altitude Assault-Transports, laden with clone troopers, strafed open a landing zone and disgorged their troops. Ruined hulks passed him by, some of them heavy C.I.S. vehicles like MTTs and four-legged homing droids, others the very tanks and transports of the Republic's airborne brigades. Some were shot down here on approach. The landing zone was just ahead, and Baxta could see the white of clone armor now, as the first wave of organic casualties came into view.

Suddenly, the proximity alert light on his Swoop flashed. He shifted his brain's focus to the lenses on his right, and noticed Licto's large airspeeder converging along his path. The three-eyed herbivore waved with a thick, gloved hand, and took position behind Baxta. Licto was a Gran, often stereotyped as greedy, stubborn gluttons. Licto did his part to fulfill that perception. But he was also a skilled mechanic, one who kept their ship, the _Spoil 4_ , in working order. He was flying the _Spoil's_ bulky transport sled, _Toy Box_ , the craft's twin stabilizers jutting forward like the jaws of a beetle.

Baxta shifted his focus to a speck on the ravaged horizon to his left. Another member of his team was coming into view, and with a tilt of his lenses he was able to spot the bulky silhouette of Renege, a female Givin with a proclivity for airless environments. Her species was covered by a bony exoskeleton, perfect for the low-pressure and even hard-vaccum environments they evolved in. Renege was of uncommonly large frame for her species, serving as their security expert. Not caring for the mathematics and scientific endeavors her race was known for, she left the mining profession after the Mining Guild initiated military-style operations against her union on one of the moons of Fondor. After the fighting, she became an outlaw, the state in which Baxta found her. She was young for her species, but still 47 years old. Baxta suspected she had lived a storied life among the stars, as working on starships was probably the best way a Givin could make a living besides working behind a desk, considering their physiology.

The three of them sped along the ruined Separatist lines. The war machine hulks were getting bigger now, as were the bunkers and turrets that the Separatists had hastily erected to thwart the clone army's assault. An AAT lay with its main cannon askew, behind it the burnt remains of an AT-TE walker, it's hatch doors open, a dead clone slumped over the controls of its heavy cannon. They were getting close to their target, the clump of ruined Hailfire droids that were knocked out in the Republic's second wave. Their targeting control systems and state-of-the-art homing missiles were prized salvage that would fetch a high price on the black market. From his blind in the foothills, he saw that the LAAT gunships took out this batch without the Hailfires launching a single missile. The Republic was learning. They hit them at a high angle, above the droid's targeting window. As the broken wheels of the missile tanks loomed ahead, Baxta received a vibration from the comlink affixed to his rebreather. After a short crackle, the voice of the team's resident human came in.

"Kilo here. I'm at the site. It looks good. Reckon 40% of the missiles are intact, and 30% of the control units. For a column this size, that's more than we can carry."

Baxta activated his intercom by clicking his mandibles twice, "Good. _Toy Box_ is en-route. Is perimeter secure?"

"Affirmative. No movement except for…" He paused, "Sorry, but it's easier to explain once you get here, sir."

The line cut off, and Baxta chose not to push the matter further. Kilo was an old hand, a natural spacer and a brawler to his bones. A large man, Kilo was a Mining Guild soldier who was discharged after a Dug revolt on Malastare. That was 8 years ago, and he'd been in the shadows ever since, taking freelance bounty hunting jobs for a less violent clientele. Domestic runaways and loan fugitives were enough to pay the bills, until it became clear that unless he wanted to increase his risk profile with marks who would actually fight back, hunting fellow sentients wasn't going to pay for retirement.

Kilo was alone at the site, while the rest of the team was either en-route or with the ship, _Spoil 4_. Normally they would bring the _Spoil_ to the salvage, but then Republic scanners would pick them up. Baxta didn't trust the Republic admiral to tolerate their presence here. Bothans were famously contemptuous of fringe types. They'd probably get treated worse than if they were mercenaries.

Baxta glanced again over to Licto in the _Toy Box_. As an airspeeder with low-yield repulsors, this was the only way to get at the choicest remains of the battle quickly without being detected. Other scavengers had landed prior to the attack, and all were itching to get in on the pickings.

Soon, Baxta, Licto and Renege were at the Hailfire droid extermination site. Five-meter wheel rims dug into the soil, and the droid's fuselages lay smoldering amid scraps of burning Nysillum. Kilo wasn't near the wreckage, however. He was standing next to a lone, flailing figure as the three other gleaners passed leisurely over him in their Swoops.

"Kilo, you have a new friend?" Renege shouted over the roar of repulsorlifts, her sidearm suddenly out in her free hand. Kilo had indeed found someone, and Baxta recognized the unit immediately. A Separatist T-series tactical droid. And it was looking at nowhere in particular, it's head swiveling erratically as it waved its arms.

Kilo laughed, "No, it's all right. Unarmed. The poor skugg doesn't even know I'm here. I think he's fritzed."

Licto touched down first, getting off his Swoop and over to Kilo. Baxta wasn't far behind, putting a hand to his methane rebreather as the ashes of the battleground swept under his Swoop. Getting off, he put a hand to his blaster as the droid suddenly turned his direction, then suddenly twisted to the right, photoreceptors bright as it seemed to track a flying object. Suddenly, the droid spoke.

"Squadrons Satchel 1 and Hawkbat 3, converge, converge. Enemy fire shifting as predicted. Hailfire group, guncraft at high angle north of your position. Evade, evade."

Licto laughed, his antenna twitching above his three eyestalks, "Hah! The clank's fighting his war!"

"Feedback loop?" Renege queried.

Baxta shook his large head, "I've seen this in past." His vocalizer warbled in broken basic, "Officer droid plans counterattack, is overwhelmed. Failing in one's programming weighs heavily on circuits. Is like trauma. T-Series not used to fighting against overwhelming odds. Designed to look for ways to put odds in favor. When this is impossible, droid will sometimes repeat scenario in head looking for variables."

Licto grunted, "So this one's crazy?"

Renege tilted her bony head, "No. I think it's more existential than that. Unable to accept the outcome of the battle, it plays back what happened in an attempt to alter the past. It overrides its own logic circuits in desperation. The battle becomes everything. After all, what's to distinguish reality between virtual reality to a droid?

The tactical droid warbled on, "Error. Defeat condition terminal. Regroup, regr-" The droid suddenly went limp, it's photoreceptors blinking off as it's head slumped over on it's shoulders. Two seconds later, it seemed to reboot, and suddenly looked again at the sky, "Incoming. Republic warships. Satchel Wing, deploy. Delta batteries, fire at will."

Kilo scoffed, "Yeah, he said that before. I reckon his war didn't last long. I secured this site ten minutes ago."

"Any trouble?" Baxta asked.

"No. The only clones here are dead ones. Medical frigates were pretty thorough."

"Wait," Licto said in his rough, low voice, "So this guy's going to just relive the battle until his core runs dry?"

Kilo shrugged, "I thought we could take him intact, but if you want to put him out of his misery…"

Licto waved him off, "What? No. I think it's hilarious. So, he did fritz."

Renege shrugged, "In a way. Droids don't react well to failure. The shock was too much."

Kilo nodded, "No damage. Clones must've ignored him. Want me to switch him off?"

The captain nodded. Even without C.I.S. intel, the T-series was good merchandise. Maybe their Republic-friendly clients would want to sift through its processor anyway, "We'll take him in the _Box_. OK, we get to work now. Move it!"

As the crew scurried to secure the salvage, Baxta looked up at the auburn sky. The Republic navy was still up there. He could see the glint of their ships from here. Admiral Do'Vey's Mandator-class flagship, the _Indomitable_ , stayed up in space, too fat and clumsy to handle the perils of a gravity well. Do'Vey was an admiral of some renown, recognized for his heavy thrusts and quick attacks. Baxta didn't know who the Separatist commander was, but clearly digging in with half his force exposed was not a wise stratagem.

Confederacy air support was unreliable in the face of a determined capital ship offensive, and once the Acclamators and corvettes broke through the CIS fighter screen, it was as good as over. But the Republic didn't come out unscathed. One of their Acclamators, the _Resolve_ , was barely able to limp back into orbit. Baxta could see a fainter light isolated from the rest in the sky. The clones were probably evacuating the ship now of all non-essential personnel. It was a blessing. The longer the Golden Sun fleet stayed tied up here, the longer the planet would be secure from the more common riff-raff. Only through Renege's C.I.S. contacts did they learn of the sudden Separatist build-up. Baxta took a chance to come here, as the Republic kept knowledge of all operations known to only the top military strata. But the C.I.S. had been tipped off somehow, and therefore so had Renege.

The surprise was the Bothan admiral's sheer brutality. Arrival to planetfall was only two hours, and the ground assault took only one. Do'vey had a reputation for brash tactics, as well as one for maintaining a tight perimeter. There was no way the admiral would let anyone through once he got here. That meant Baxta and but a handful of other plucky gleaners had the battlefront all to themselves.

The cutting torches were in full swing as Licto worked on one of the Hailfire's missile pods. Renege was securing it with the _Toy Box's_ crane, and within a few minutes, the war droid's deadly load was cut free and gingerly lowered into the airspeeder's open cargo hold.

Licto stood on top of the Hailfire's control pod as he shouted down to Renege working the crane, "Watch the missile probes. If that pack goes off, I'll find you in Hell."

Renege scoffed, "Unifying Force, Nerf-head. Where do you get this Hell nonsense from? Relax, Lict. Hot merch is my specialty."

Kilo was at the _Toy Box's_ console when suddenly the proximity alert sounded, "People, we have incoming. Nimbus fighters, at oh-seven-six."

Captain Baxta wasn't so seasoned that he was immune to fear, but kept his vocal tones steady, "I thought we were autistic. Do not let them triangulate the _Spoil_."

"Never went network to begin with, cap. There's no way… Wait, I'm picking up an engine bloom in the mountains. It's our Corellian friends. Nimbuses are intercepting the _Vermillion_. False alarm."

The Gand allowed himself an ammonia-filled breath of relief. He scanned the sky with his many-faceted eyes, until he was able to focus on triple streaks of con-trails from the west. Soon another streak went up off the ground, from behind the foothills. Their old rival, the _Vermillion_. They must had gotten greedy, careless, or both.

"Targeting locks. Discharge! The fighters are laying on." Kilo tapped his dashboard nervously. Renege finished loading the missiles, and Licto seemed to be deciding whether or not to jump down from the Hailfire.

Baxta rubbed his rebreather with concern. The Republic usually didn't fire upon noncombatants, but clearly the Bothan had a different way of doing things.

"Shield hits on the _Vermillion_. They are not returning fire. Damn."

"Goyeth isn't stupid," Licto called from his perch, "You don't open fire on Republic fighters if you hope they'll let you go."

Renege got up out of the crane, "Yeah. The question is, will they?"

Looking up at the sky, the captain's ammonia filter clicked rhythmically as he watched the drama unfold. The _Vermillion_ was too far away to observe any blaster hits, but she was definitely running for space.

"Shields out. She's smoking."

Renege slid heavily off the _Toy Box_ as she cursed under her breath. She strode to Kilo's screen, glancing quickly at the data, "Murglaks! They're going to vape them."

"Wait, Nimbus fighters are veering off. The Republic is disengaging!"

"Probably Do'vey's Jedi getting fussy." Licto said with a hoarse grunt, "Never trust a Bothan. They're like Devarorians without the sense of humor. Get on one's nerves, suddenly you're neck deep in a lawsuit. Litigious Skuggs.

Baxta didn't know what that had to do with the situation at hand, but decided not to push the Gran, "Do'vey hates interference," the captain pointed out, "and gleaners getting here before him probably wounds pride. Kilo, are we detected?"

"Nothing from the _Indomitable_ , and she has the biggest scanners. We're clear."

"Take the tactical droid and prepare ride to the _Spoil_. I not want to push luck. That was too close."

Licto tapped thick fingers on the Hailfire's carapace, "C'mon, cap. I can have this thing's targeting computer out in two minutes."

The captain took another look at the sky. The large glints of the task force were still up there, and so was the more isolated glint of the wounded Acclamator off to the side. The Republic ground forces had consolidated the main Separatist encampment 20 klicks east, and the C.I.S. still had forces on the other side of the planet, probably aching for a counter-attack. "Do it. We dust in five."


	2. Chapter 2

Star Wars

* * *

Gleaners

Chapter II

Clone walker pilot Fall Down awoke to the sensation of being strangled. Coughing into his helmet, he reflexively clutched at his throat. Finding nothing there, the clone grasped at his helmet desperately. Yanking it off, he breathed in the black air of a cockpit on fire. Sparks flashed through the haze, a spiderweb of cracks and the dim glow of daylight his only glimpse through the tears of burning eyes. Somehow, Fall knew exactly where he was, and what had happened. He was a casualty. And his duty now was to survive.

Pilot Fall Down was airdropped via LAAT/c in the first wave, and had the best view of the battlefront, in the cockpit of his AT-TE walker. Some pilots swore by the AT-TE. Given that they were all clones, they must have had good experiences with the things, because Fall hated them. Six legs and slower than an MTT, the beast struck him as an ill-advised attempt to design a vehicle to do everything at the cost of doing nothing well. It had a mass-driver cannon that could pierce the hull of most armored opponents. Unlike the Separatist tanks, however, this one had to be maned externally, completely exposed. It sported six ball turrets that each had to be crewed, and could transport 20 additional clone troopers on top of that. That meant the loss of a single LAAT/c and AT-TE pair, as had apparently happened to Fall, often meant the deaths of 30 individual clone troopers. On top of that, it was equipped with ridiculous vanities like pressurization to survive in space, and could scale and adhere to any surface, climbing sheer cliffs more slowly than it would take for their airlifts to do the same thing. And more importantly, the AT-TE's most vulnerable point was its transparisteel cockpit. Granted, it was framed by four independent cannons, but it was still an inviting target for an enterprising commando droid.

Given the cockpit's glaring vulnerability, clone pilot Fall wondered vaguely why he was still alive.

At present, however, such thoughts were quickly brushed aside by lack of oxygen to his lungs. Fall struggled against his straps, instincts kicking in as he remembered to hit the release on his harness. With a click, his straps fell away and the clone fell heavily against his controls. With a sudden burst of desperation, he unholstered his blaster, flipped off the safety, and fired weakly into the canopy, the sidearm's recoil sending his third shot into the roof window. It was this shot that had the most immediate effect, shattering glass all over him and releasing the smoky pall from the cockpit. Fresh air rushed through the holes he had made, and soon his poisoned lungs cycled out the residue from a dozen electrical fires. Thoughts slowly returned to him then, memories of this, his first deployment into battle, the ill-fated pinnacle of a 10-year lifetime.

It didn't take long. That much he knew. The Acclamators disgorged their airborne units after their first pass on the Separatist lines. Fall heard the thunder of his own ship, the _Resolve_ , as it pounded away. Then, as the cruisers circled around for another pass, the hanger doors opened, light flooded into the bay, and one by one, the AT-TEs were released in their LAAT/c transports, careening down into the fray below.

The angle was steep. Fall's training told him to expect Gs, but this was more than he was used to. The ground rushed up, as did ground fire. He felt like an artillery projectile, as though he was part of the _Resolve's_ bombardment. Green fire lanced all around him, until finally the LAAT pulled up.

It was at this moment the AT-TE's carrier was hit. He knew it because he felt the walker spin, a screech of metal as the tank ripped itself free from the LAAT in the crosswind, and suddenly, peace.

For those few seconds, Fall registered his certain death in a moment of clarity. That one moment, seated in his pilot's chair, at the controls of six legs, flying wingless through the sky. The absurdity of it all didn't register to the clone then, but in hindsight the pilot could appreciate it. At any rate, he remembered how the horizon spiraled in slow motion, until suddenly it enveloped him, sealing all vision and sound within it.

And that was it. A flurry of activity he had experienced in only a few seconds. He held onto the final thought of that moment, that this was his existence. Ten years of accelerated-growth life. Not even a long time, he was told. All for this. There was humor in that thought. A dark, terrible humor that Fall could smile at, in spite of himself. It was then, as the cold metal of the console pressed against his face, that the clone's will to survive was kindled.

His training on Kamino prepared him for the idea that not all clones would die nobly in pitched battle. That whatever their fates, it was for a vision and future more important than each of them. A duty to serve a government that needed them. As a clone, he had many friends as part of the bargain. They trained under the guidance of the enigmatic Shaak-Ti, a Jedi of immense power, who taught him that the Galaxy was indeed vast and full of mysteries. A galaxy so big that most people, for their entire lives, stayed on one planet, or even one place, terrified to venture outside their safe boundaries. Fall was taught to respect that, as the galaxy was dangerous. But that was why he was created. To step outside those boundaries and protect that way of life. And the reward? He'd see more of the galaxy in half a lifetime than most saw in one.

Fall let the cool air of the outside sweep across his face. He still believed it was a fair trade. A life of purpose as part of a family. But this crash had made him more cynical than he had ever been before, and it unnerved him enough to jerk him out of his reverie. Was his family all the galaxy had to offer him? What was the point of free will in a destiny so narrow and regimented? Those thoughts repulsed him, and with an urgency meant to remind him he was still in battle, pilot Fall sat up straight, as though ready to drive his mangled mechanical beast onward. Glass clattered off his armor, then silence. The blaster was still in his hands, and the clone holstered it. Gingerly he opened the cracked canopy door, climbed out of his seat, and dragged himself out of the walker. He had one leg dangling over the threshold, until the strenuous movement blurred his vision. Unable to hold on, the clone let gravity take over and hurl him onto the mud below.

And just like that, he was outside.

A part of Fall's mind had expected to be in the middle of furious crossfire, but his surroundings made it clear there was no longer a fight to be had. Desolation beckoned before him, the ruins of a dozen recognizable designs, all twisted into different shapes. Fall stared at the ruins for a long time, as feeling returned to his limbs. He looked out at the ruined towers, the bent wings of gunships, the scattering of white armor and tan-brown chassis of the assorted ground troops. The furrowed ground that had once been a Nysillum field. Without realizing it, he had carried his helmet out with him, unconsciously assuming he'd need it. With effort, the clone lurched himself off the ground to a kneeling position, grabbed his helm, and examined it. One quick look told him the filters had clogged shut. That must have been what woke him up. Asphyxiation, as the canisters in his helmet filled to capacity with smoke. Fall threw the broken thing aside and flimsily drew his blaster. Training kicked in. The pilot scanned the horizon for medical frigates, friendly squads, anything. There were lights far ahead, and a transmitter could be seen jutting out some twenty klicks away. But closer, he could clearly see one distant shape that he couldn't recognize. An idle airspeeder, next to the distinctive wheeled hulks of a Hailfire droid column. Without marcobinoculars, it was impossible to tell whose side the airspeeder was on. Clearly, however, his path now was clear. The craft was in hover mode, presumably operational. If its owners were friendly, he would be saved. If they were unfriendly, at least he would know who won the battle before he died.

Again, the cynical humor of his thoughts made him grimace. Fall started towards the distant vehicle, about a klick away. As he walked, he scanned the sky for signs of activity. No air-superiority fighters were in the air. Suddenly, however, the pilot's eyes came across daystars. Stars in daylight occurred in many systems, but they were either solitary or uniform. A cluster of them usually meant ships. The formation of the constellation reminded him of his task force. So that was it. He won. This time, Fall really did smile, but his cynicism outshone his relief, much to his chagrin. Another great victory for the Galactic Republic. And all he had to do to earn it, was fall out of the sky like a meteor. Given how he earned his name, there was an elegance to that. A sense of consistency to his existence. Fall shook his head in bemusement. Did all clones get this cynical after their first deployment?

The airspeeder was closer now. The wrecks of the Hailfires beckoned behind it, and apparently the speeder was right up against one. There was a dull light, then suddenly motion. What looked like a crane was swinging its load, the missile battery of the Hailfire. The clone could see more figures there. Scavengers. It was the only thing that made sense. Unless they were contractors. But if that were the case there would be more of them, with clone escorts. No, these were either freelancers, or the battle had not gone as he'd thought and they were Separatist personnel, recovering their spent cannon fodder. Drawing his sidearm, Fall became acutely aware of his line of sight as he crossed the battleground, making sure the hulking wreck of a Corporate Alliance tank droid obscured him from view. Now out of sight, he began to wonder why he wasn't simply ignoring them. Yes, they were between him and what he assumed were his lines, but there was no reason to engage them. Unless he could hitch a ride. No, commandeering their vehicle was too risky. There were at least four or five of them. Still, at the very least they could fill him in on the battle.

Unless they were inclined to shoot on sight.

Mind made up, Fall holstered his sidearm and emerged from behind the tank droid, making no attempt at concealment. Walking steadily forward with his hands up, it was a few minutes before they noticed him. A large being seemed to pick up a rifle from the speeder's open cargo sled. Another went for a smaller speeder, a Swoop from the look of it. With a hum the figure was in motion, flying straight towards him. Having already cheated death, Fall felt strangely apathetic. Having his blaster holstered gave him a strangely harmonious feeling, as if he was letting go of his fate. As though the crash had cut loose some thread of his destiny, and what came next was all up to the Force. Most clones, he imagined, would be inclined to be more cautious after a near-death experience. And while a part of him felt that urge for self-preservation, another part of him felt thrilled at living outside the rules, outside the regulations and structure of his life. The scavenger would stop in front of him or blast him down. He would live or he would die. This was misbehavior, surely. No clone should surrender himself this way. But oddly, Fall couldn't help but smile. This was something his Jedi overseers like Shaak-Ti would do. Not act aggressively, even if it made them less safe. He wondered vaguely if he was going mad.

The scavenger did not open fire. His blaster was up, but only vaguely pointed in his direction. The figure slowed down, his Swoop gliding to a stop four meters away. The figure was indeed a man, human, in fact. And he was old. Older than any human he'd seen aside from a few Jedi. He guessed the man was at least forty. Ancient as far as a clone was concerned.

The human laughed, "Are you surrendering to me, soldier boy? Thought your types didn't go for that sort of thing."

Fall was not amused. "I'm not surrendering. If you'd seen me armed… Forget it. I need… I want you or your captain to tell me what's going on."

The man smirked, "You mean you don't know?"

"I see my fleet up there, but that doesn't tell me what happened on the ground. My walker went down, and it seems whatever happened went on without me."

The mirth on the man's face brightened, "That it did, friend. Well then, I guess I should congratulate you. The Seppies were wiped out. Your buddies swept the field of those clankers. Not that I care either way, mind you, but I have no problem being the bearer of good tidings."

"Right," the clone said, "So you're not a Republic contractor."

"Void no. Republic credits are no good out here. We're gleaners, junk collectors. You guys make a mess, we clean it up."

"You make it sound considerate."

"We prefer to think of it all as part of the primordial cycle of decay and rebirth, but sure, as long as it makes a credit."

The clone's cynicism came back, "I see you don't have much of a stake in the battle either way."

"That's a fact," the man said, the blaster in his hand shifting casually towards Fall, "And as a matter of fact, I'm going to have to ask you to come with us."

Fall's blaster arm twitched, "What?"

"Never said we were pure as Illum crystals, my friend. Being the team's pet human makes me loathe to shoot clones, but I will if you don't cooperate with us."

Fall didn't move, but lifted his chin defiantly, "You're Republic citizens whether under enemy occupation or not. I expect civilians to get out of our way and let us do our jobs. But if you have clone blood on your…"

Suddenly the man's blaster was leveled smoothly at Fall's chest, "Ah, don't move a muscle, friend. And count your blessings. We only kill what we have to, like you. Personally, I'm a big fan of your tech. That, and…" The man stopped abruptly, his eyes suddenly fixed to a point off to the side. Cautiously, Fall turned his head behind him. It was just the mountain pass, clouds hugging the distant slopes halfway up. But in front of those clouds were shapes. The shapes of ships. The human swore a curse behind him. Fall was inclined to agree.

"Separatists," the clone said, "Landing craft, at least a squadron. Fighter escort…"

"Yeah, kark that. Looks like time's not on our side. And being seen by the clankers with your kind doesn't bode well for one's health," The Swoop roared as he kicked off from the ground, the craft bobbing up and down as its repulsors rapidly changed alignment, "I give you your life, friend," he gestured a mock salute with his free hand, "Waste it well." The craft glided past him and curved back around, the human standing high over his seat, changing gears for all his machine was worth.

Suddenly it became clear to Fall what his next move was. With a practiced motion, he drew his blaster and fired, a blue bolt lancing out and into the gleaner's Swoop. The front stabilizer took the hit, and the craft's nose jerked to the side right as its driver accelerated. Off balance, the human was flung off, falling heavily on his shoulder into the mud. Fall sprang forward, blaster clutched in his fist. The gleaner was quick, halfway to his feet with blaster in hand as Fall sent his pistol grip into the man's jaw. The human grunted and fell back down, blaster hand flailing. Fall kicked the man's weapon out of his grip and stood over him, leveling his sidearm at his face, "I should kill you right now, scum."

The human smiled, lip stained with red, "Yeah, feeling's mutual." He lay there in the mud, hands up in submission, "I guess we both need to get out of here. How about a truce?"

"In the name of the Galactic Republic, I am commandeering-" suddenly a blaster bolt seared past his ear, the sound like a crack behind him. The clone didn't hesitate. He grabbed the gleaner by his bandolier and pulled him up. The man didn't resist, but grunted as Fall roughly headlocked him from behind, placing the gleaner between himself and the sound of the shot. Fall slammed his pistol muzzle against the man's head.

"Damn you, Renege," the scavenger bit out angrily, "It's only 200 meters, you nearsighted…"

"Shut it. Don't try anything."

The gleaner laughed, no longer with mirth, "Oh, no. Don't worry. You're doing great. Got a rifle trained on us up front, and a few dozen platoons of clankers down back. You'll get a medal for this, for sure."

Fall looked ahead at the airspeeder. It was in motion, heading right for him. Belatedly he wondered what his best move was now. Clearly he needed transportation, but these scavengers had him boxed in. Only one thing to do now. He tightened his arm against the scavenger's neck, "You're my hostage. We're getting out of here."

The human struggled, but to no avail, "Fine by me. Just don't shoot your shield, yeah? I'm the only friend you have right now."

Fall kept his blaster tight against the man's temple. He wanted to look behind him, at the enemy armada that was surely getting closer. But the airspeeder was the immediate threat. And, perhaps, his salvation.

The clone's hostage shifted in his grip, "Look, buddy. We're not enemies, not technically. None of this is personal, get it?"

Fall scoffed, "Sure. I understand. You were just in a good mood, and wanted to say hello to a fellow human."

"Look, we only shoot in self-defense," the gleaner said, throat straining against Fall's armored forearm, "We're not butchers. We have Republic contacts… do business on New Holstice… where you guys keep your depots. Even the Jedi don't bother us. Everyone has bigger fish to fry. But you're not like us. You're tools. Organic droids. You'd carpet-bomb a city if your precious Jedi general told you-" he was cut short by Fall's gauntlet squeezing against his throat.

"You know, I might have gone easy on you, but then you had to insult my brothers. I don't like that."

"OK, I get it, I talk too much."

The airspeeder was close now and began to slow down. A Gran and a large Givin were riding on the back, and the driver appeared to be insectoid. A Gand, judging from its breathing apparatus. The ghoul-faced Givin had a rifle trained on him, and the Gran had a pistol at the ready. The driver opened the canopy hatch and stood up in his seat. A synthesized voice boomed from the alien's vocalizer, "OK, clone, this is how we do this. You are our prisoner, we take you with us. Drop your weapon, and we won't shoot you. Shoot our human, and we kill you. Make choice now."

It was the offer Fall had hoped he would get. Again, he felt a sense of peace as he dropped the blaster and shoved his charge in front of him. Again, they could kill him now, or let him live. It was up to them.

To his surprise, the scavengers didn't start blasting. Instead, the Givin lowered its rifle. The Gran beside it seemed to relax his aim.

"Get on!" the insectoid driver boomed.

Fall blinked in surprise. He had honestly expected them to kill him. However, the Givin extended its hand as the cargo sled thrummed to life. This was his only chance and he took it. Grabbing the alien's bony hand, he lifted himself up and over the sled's threshold. The three-eyed Gran grabbed him by the arm and roughly jerked him to the floor, his pistol trained squarely at the clone's chest. Fall didn't resist. Instead, he took the opportunity to glance up at the C.I.S. flotilla hanging in the sky. It was getting closer.

"Captain wants you alive, clone," the Gran said in a gruff voice, "Don't try anything."

Fall nodded, trying to figure out the scavenger's plan. If the Separatists found them with a clone, they'd be shot dead. So clearly they weren't going to surrender to the clankers. But if that was the case, why take him at all?

The Gand in the cockpit was speaking something barely audible over the engines and wind, evidently into his comlink, " _Toy Box_ to _Spoil_. Rendezvous at zed, two, nine. Do not engage Separatist forces. If pursuit imminent, dust off."

The human was in the hold with the rest of the gleaners, rubbing at his throat. "Hope you're happy, clone. Just cost us three Swoops."

The Givin spoke to him now, in a female voice, "You're lucky you're worth more to us alive."

Fall still didn't understand, but said nothing. The Separatist landing fleet appeared to be ignoring them. He could make out the landing craft's escorts, a collection of droid starfighters and B-1 mounted light speeders, also known as STAPs.

The Gand driver spoke now, "We are not combat priority. Confederacy will ignore us until they deploy ground assault. The problem is Republic.

"Why?" Fall shouted back, "We don't shoot noncombatants."

The three-eyed alien spoke now, "Tell that to your admiral. He's probably planning to bombard the whole valley from orbit."

"Negative on that," the human said, looking up at the sky, "Do'vey's task force is engaged. I'm seeing a bunch of new contacts up there. Flashes too. I think the Seppies are throwing everything in on this one."

The Givin cursed, "Then the outcome is still in doubt. We have to get out of here."

The Gran grunted, "Mandator-class will take a lot of killing."

Fall suddenly got it, "You need me to get past the Republic picket."

The Gand warbled a reply from the cockpit, "Correct. Do'vey may not care about one clone, but Jedi Master might. We'll try to escape in chaos of battle, but if that fails, you'll contact _Indomitable_ , and inform them we wish to trade you for our freedom."

Fall nodded. The human was quick to impugn the Jedi as willing to bombard a city, but the Gand clearly knew the Jedi enough to trust their mercy over that of the Republic's military establishment. The non-clones at the head of it, anyway. As long as these gleaners were willing to let him go, this was a plan he could live with, "Fine with me."

"And if the Republic is routed?" asked the stony-faced Givin.

Fall spoke up, "A Mandator hasn't fallen yet," he said defensively, "And the admiral… Well, he may not think much of clones, but he's a tactical genius. We'll pull through." The implication of the Givin's question wasn't lost on the clone. Even if the gleaners weren't enemies, they certainly weren't allies, either. He had no illusions that they would kill him if his brothers failed to hold this system. In Separatist space, a clone soldier was a liability.

After all he had been through on this deployment, the spark of survival was starting to burn again within him. He wanted to see his brothers again. To fight by their side, to see this war through. Fall looked over at his captors. The human had mentioned New Holstice, a mid-rim Republic stronghold. Did the Republic truly tolerate scum such as this? He looked around at the sled's cargo. A few large droid cores, a Separatist tactical droid, and the Hailfire missile pod they were loading when he discovered them. All of it was C.I.S. He wondered vaguely if there was more to these scavengers than he'd given them credit for.


	3. Chapter 3

Star Wars

* * *

Gleaners

Chapter III

The gleaner with a skull for a face sat heavily on the side of the _Toy Box's_ open cargo hold, the humidity of this world a small mercy for her pained exoskeleton. The 2.5 meter Givin eyed the clone human scrupulously through the deep rims of her bony eye sockets. The soldier was clearly weary, sitting on one of the benches that lined the spacious bed of the heavy-duty cargo sled. He looked very unlike the perfect humanoid soldier she had envisioned. Then again, humans were not renowned for their physical prowess. Nor much of anything else, Renege thought frankly. They were the epitome of ordinary and common, and so was this one. Not creased and weathered like Kilo, who was also observing the clone from the other side of the hold, nursing a bruised shoulder. The clone was bald, of bronzish skin tone, and otherwise an unremarkable example of his species. Around them, the one-meter high sides of the hold gave a good view of the outside, and the crane had folded into the _Toy Box's_ external rack. In front was the craft's cramped cabin and cockpit compartment. Captain Baxta could be seen through an open window that allowed him to hear and issue commands as they fled the Separatist advance.

Licto was across from her, his blaster dangling in his paw, always at least one eyestalk turned towards the clone sitting beside him. As for Renege, she had put away her rifle and figured she could subdue the prisoner bare handed if she had to. For now, however, there were more pressing concerns. Pulling out a pair of macrobinoculars from her heavy robes, she handed the device to Kilo, "Captain needs eyes on the orbital battle. Get on it."

Kilo didn't hesitate, "Right," he checked the calibration and put the marcos to his eyes as he scanned the sky, "By the way, I ever tell you what a crack shot you are?"

Renege cracked her left elbow painfully, the cavitation sending tremors up her shoulder, "I wouldn't have had to fire if you'd stuck to the plan. Why'd you abandon him?"

"Seppies in the area meant clones were a bad idea to have by your side. So yeah, I ditched him. I don't know why we even need him at this point. We get to the _Spoil_ , either run the blockade or fly low to the other side of the planet where the Golden Sun's not tearing space up above us. Take our chances with patrols. And that's if the Seps don't pull this thing out. You really think Do'Vey is going to care we have one of his clones? Or worse, what if he does care?"

"Shut it, Kilo," Licto said darkly, "You think too much."

"Think _and_ talk," the clone muttered.

Renege leaned forward, "You, clone. I almost put a blaster bolt in your skull. But we're not enemies. We'll cut you loose if you don't act up. What's your designation.

The clone looked up at the Givin with a neutral look on his face, "PT-280."

Renege scoffed. Typical. They were factory-produced soldiers after all, "I'm good with numbers, but that won't do for a name. What's your rank?"

"Pilot. Walker. But…" The clone shrugged, "I guess I'm known as Fall Down."

Licto barked a laugh, "Nice. Three guesses as to what happened to you."

"I'm not being cryptic. That's what they call me. Training accident. Oh, blast it. I don't care what you call me. You're all scum anyway."

"That what they call folks just scraping by?" Kilo retorted, "As if both sides locking down trade routes, causing the occasional famine here and there… I don't suppose-"

"Peace, Kilo," Renege said coolly, "I prefer to think of myself as scum than age twice as fast, myself. Stars, Kilo, did he insult your individuality or what? What's got you all riled up?"

"Just don't trust clones, is all."

The trooper calling himself Fall Down broke in, "We didn't crack this galaxy in half."

"Oh, right? And what's going to put it back together? Manufactured soldiers? Perpetual warfare? Both sides making their own troops from scratch with unlimited resources... This war's never going to end at this rate. Imagine if it did. A bunch of crooked senators get stuck in the gut, some regulations get rewritten, _that's it_. Or maybe we get two Republics instead of one. Come on. Is that worse than this? Without you guys, at least this war would be short."

"You a Separatist now, Kilo?" Licto said with a scoff.

"No, I'm not… I just…. We're up against two immovable objects, and the grinding's just shaking the whole thing apart," the man's face softened, "Like I said, it's not personal."

Renege was impressed. Kilo had only been with the crew for a few months, and it was clear he was a bitter old man with an axe to grind against the Republic. But this was the first time he'd opened up about it. For the clone's part, he looked at the man with a sense of empathy, which also impressed Renege. Her impression of the clones had indeed been one of rigid duty and discipline, certainly not anything resembling an actual being.

The clone surprised her again with what he said next, "Look, Kilo, is it? I can actually understand what you're saying here. But the Confederacy has no interest in governing by the people's will. And the Jedi? They go down if the Republic does. Do you really think the galaxy would be a better place if they were gone?"

Kilos scoffed, "You know what they call the Sith War out on the Rim? The Jedi Civil War. Know why that is? Because at the end of the cycle, what do average folk care about what religion the laser-sword-swinging maniac is a part of? They're both out there killing folk. Sith came from the Jedi, and it's the Order that takes those kids away from their parents in the first place. Maybe the galaxy _would_ be better off without them. Don't know, don't care. Just know that if one side gives, pressure likes to equalize. Right now the galaxy's pressurized like a thermal imploder."

The clone shrugged, "Fine. I'm not going to fight with you on this. The war's tough on everyone. But I'm just trying to do what I was made for. You think you can live with that?"

Kilo's bloody lip twitched, "Well, if it comes down to it, I reckon so."

Licto guffawed, "Aw, look, the two humans are friends now.

Kilo rolled his eyes, "Stuff it, Lict. Blazes… the battle!" Suddenly Kilo had his macros to the sky, scanning for all he was worth. Renege bit out a curse herself. They had let themselves get distracted. Still, getting the two of them to not be at each other's throats should pay off in the long run.

"Battle is still pitched," Kilo reported, "Heavy penetration of Republic battle lines. Seppies really want this Mandator."

Fall looked up at Renege, who towered over him even sitting down, "You seem quite sure that the Republic wants to kill you. I'm starting to wonder why."

Renege's stony face remained passive, "It's not like that. You clones have been known to shoot at us if we don't stay out of your way. Usually we do. But sometimes we have to get in early on a battle site if we want to beat the competition," it was an evasion, but Renege didn't feel comfortable divulging their purpose to a Republic grunt. She continued, "The Republic's attack was leaked to Separatist spies ahead of time. Lot of fringers picked up on it. The real question is why your admiral followed through anyway. Kilo, what do you see?"

"Republic flotilla forming up on the _Resolve_. _Indomitable_ taking the biggest hits. Can't imagine her shields will last against all that Sep metal out there, but she's holding.

Fall sat up against the cabin bulkhead, eyes set on Renege, "You're saying the Republic was betrayed?"

"Happens all the time," Licto said from his seat beside Fall. His blaster was holstered now, and he was looking up at the Separatist landing force far behind them, then back at Fall, "Don't let it get to you. Out of your hands now," He gestured to Kilo with his macrobinoculars to the sky, "See, that's why Kilo here is a little uptight. You clones don't have to make many choices on how you die. Your fates are sealed by others. Jedi, politicians, traitors. There's a, I don't know… a kind of comfort in that. On the other appendage, we make our own rules. Die by them too. All the pressure's on us to choose what danger we risk out here. You just go where you're told."

Kilo continued to scan the atmosphere as he retorted, "Sure, Licto. Maybe I also just have trust issues since our friend here shot my Swoop out from under me."

"Do you expect me to apologize? You left me to die." Fall said pointedly.

"What do you think Lict is saying? To die fighting is your job, not mine. There's no one else with my pretty face to replace me if I get taken out."

Fall threw up his hands, "All right, fine. Let's pretend you've convinced me with that little comment that you're all just a bunch of gold-hearted junk traders. Who do you sell C.I.S. hardware to?"

"You expect us to tell you?" Kilo said with a scoff, "Republic formation is tightening. Seps are picking off escorts. _Indomitable's_ tractor beaming the _Resolve_ to a position behind her."

"We sell to Republic," Captain Baxta warbled from his off-side cockpit, through the rear window, "Grey marketers sell our salvage to Republic surplus outlets on frontier, is sold to raise money for war effort."

Fall seemed confused. He no doubt expected something more nefarious, or at least something not ostensibly in service to his own government. Renege herself was surprised that the captain revealed their mission to the clone. Did Baxta think his knowing would smooth things over if they were captured? "Wait, what?" Fall exclaimed incredulously, gesturing to the Hailfire pod beside him, "The Republic sells these missiles to civilians?"

Licto nodded, eyestalks twitching to look at Baxta's cockpit, "Well, as long as we're all being honest, yeah. How do you think you'll hold the Outer Rim? Clones can't be everywhere. So we get paid to turn Sep weapons against them on the frontier."

The clone stood up, stepped over to the captain's rear window, "You're not contractors. You're not even sanctioned."

"Of course not," Baxta trilled, "None of this is official. Senate would never approve necessary legislation.

Fall looked uneasy, "No codes that you can use to tell Republic forces you're on their side? That's crazy."

Renege spoke up, "That's the Outer Rim. We have to manage our own risk out here. Probably cut it little fine today," Indeed, Renege thought it more than a little silly that the people who were paying them could technically shoot them on sight. But then, she did have Separatist contacts, as did most of the _Spoil 4's_ crew. There were worse things than not signing a government's paperwork and simply taking their credits instead.

The clone shrugged, "Secret procurement agents. Fine. So I assume Admiral Do'vey is as in the dark about this as anyone."

Licto gestured to the sky with a meaty paw, "He knows. And he's a Bothan, so he doesn't care. His kind hates fringers. But even if he didn't, how does your admiral tell us apart from the spies and the gunrunners? Once you lock down a system, you can't make exceptions. It's every ship for itself out here."

Fall seemed to think about that. Renege wondered if such complexity was beyond him. The shadows of war made everything grey, while soldiers needed to see things in black and white. Renege pulled out a canister from her robes, flicked the lid open, and slipped an orange pill into her palm. The Givin passed it through her grey jaws with a flick of the wrist. Returning the canister to its pocket, she noticed Fall staring up at her. "What? Pain pills."

"Are you wounded?" Fall asked.

Licto guffawed, "It would take a mass-driver to get through all that bone. Renege?"

The Givin shrugged, "I have a condition."

"Three guesses." Licto quipped.

Fall looked at Licto curiously, then at Renege, "How should I know?" he said irritably.

"Gigantism, genius." Licto said, "Guess you boys aren't the deductive geniuses that the agitprop says you are."

Fall raised his eyebrows, "I see. New Holstice is a medical center. Best in the sector. Jedi healers. That's why you're tied to the Republic."

Renege had to be impressed, "Not bad, clone. That's a perk, anyway. Yes, chronic skeletal dysmorphia, among other things that come with uncontrolled growth. Not something a bacta patch can fix."

Kilo spoke up now, still scanning the sky, "Well, there's a practical side to keeping the old girl alive. Damn near blaster-proof."

"Near being the priority term." Renege said gruffly, "And thanks for the sentiment, Kilo. Next time you get shot in the face, I'll share some of my anti-blister cream."

Kilo chuckled, "Ah, well, what are pals for?"

Renege looked up at the Separatist landing craft some 10 klicks away. They were beginning to deploy their units. Beyond them, the faint glints of other ships rose up from behind the Republic lines. That wasn't supposed to happen, "Kilo, you blind?" Renege said as the human, still observing the battle in orbit, looked down from his marcobinoculars.

"What?" Kilo said with irritation.

"The Republic is making for space." Renege pointed towards the new contacts.

Kilo quickly applied his macros to the horizon, "Frotz! Roger that. Republic is abandoning C.I.S. fortifications. Huh. Guess it's maneuver warfare, then."

Baxta's synthesized voice trilled from the cockpit, "Kilo, is _Resolve_ still in orbit?"

"Yeah, just behind the _Indomitable_. Why?"

The captain raised his volume as the wind picked up around them, "Check _Resolve's_ position."

Renege tilted her head in confusion, eliciting a twinge of pain from her carapace. What was so important about a damaged assault barge? "Captain, what of it?"

" _Resolve_ was being evacuated an hour ago. Beginning to think Admiral Do'vey knew about counterattack. Unorthodox commander. Luring Separatist landing craft to battle site may be part of plan."

Suddenly Renege understood, "He's going to use the _Resolve_ as a missile?"

The clone seemed to perk up at that, "Missile? The _Resolve_ was abandoned? What in the blazes are you talking about?"

Kilo suddenly blurted out a curse, " _Resolve_ 's engines are cold but she's on the move! Approaching re-entry! I think you're right, cap. The admiral's gonna bombard the valley with his own Acclamator!"

Renege suddenly raked her brain with the calculations. Assuming the _Resolve's_ reactor held, and assuming the 750 meter craft was angled correctly with the planet's rotation, it would quickly build up enough velocity to pulverize the entire region. With room to spare.

Baxta's vocalizer warbled, " _Spoil_ , are you at rendezvous?"

"Affirmative, but we're engines hot," came the reply from Polek, the _Spoil 4's_ Klatoonian pilot, half drowned out by the wind as the _Toy Box_ continued its dash through the fields, "Be advised, we have incoming."

"ETA on collision?"

"Three minutes. We are coming to you. En-route now."

"No time!" came Baxta's synthesized reply, "Get out now! We are two klicks from hill formation to your west. That will give us cover. Get out of blast zone,"

Polek's voice came in loudly from the intercom, "Blast it, Captain! Roger that! Awaiting further orders."

Renege lurched forward painfully to crack the plates in her back, the sound eliciting a flinch from the clone. Her bony jaw locked in anticipation. Being a Givin, a species capable of surviving in the hard vaccum of space, had its perks when it came to planetary cataclysms. Regardless, the blast wave from the _Resolve_ was likely going to hurt. She looked up, saw that one of the daystars was glowing yellow as the doomed Acclamator interacted with the atmosphere. Things were heating up, quite literally above their heads. A part of Renege was excited in spite of the danger. It was moments like this that made life as a gleaner interesting.


	4. Chapter 4

Star Wars

* * *

Gleaners

Chapter IV

The Toy Box raced towards the foothills as the Acclamator streaked toward the horizon. Interplanetary physics was a cinch for Renege. She reasoned that since the Golden Sun fleet was in geosynchronous orbit, the Resolve had to be angled very precisely as it was thrust out into a re-entry trajectory. So far, watching from the Toy Box's open cargo bay, the doomed ship was arcing away from them. Just from logic Renege knew that it would begin to slow down as drag forces and gravity tugged at the massive assault ship. Then, that arc she was seeing now would hang in the sky, then reverse as the planet's rotation swung it down on their heads.

It would be quite a surprise for the C.I.S. Now all they had to do was survive it.

As they glided over the increasing grade of the valley's sloping sides, the gleaner captain scanned Paska Minor's foothills for cover. It had to be terrain. In the worst case, the blast wave would destroy most structures. Even a weatherproof storage shed, like the ones housing farmer's combines and other vehicles, while they might accommodate the Toy Box, there were too many variables at stake to make that their first option. Jumping into an irrigation ditch was a last resort. Baxta did not want to abandon his cargo if he could help it. They were far enough from the blast zone that a single assault barge would probably not be massive enough to kill them out here. He hoped.

"Renege," The Gand shouted over the wind, "How dead are we whatever we do?"

The large Givin replied over the wind, "Depends on which compartments are serving as heat shields, sir! If it's the engine blocks or superstructure, she'll hold until impact. That's dicey for us. If it's the hanger bays… I don't know. She may airburst and scatter her guts over the whole valley. Depending on the height at that point, we're either safe or farkled. The aim may be off in any case. Too many variables."

Not the definite answer he was hoping for. His compound eyes, however, remained sighted on the crest of the foothills in front of him. That would have to do, "We take cover in the _Box_! Kilo, secure crane! This will be close!"

The _Toy Box_ glided uphill. Fall gritted his teeth as he watched the streak in the sky grow larger, a streak that had once been his home for the better part of a month. He didn't know why it had been abandoned, but he could guess. Minutes before his ill-fated deployment, impact tremors could be heard resonating from the hull all the way to the launch racks, his LAAT carrier unit, and the cockpit of the walker itself. The Resolve made its first precision barrage at point-blank range on C.I.S. artillery positions, betting on the assault ship's size to take the counter-fire. Well, she survived it, only just. Hopefully the _Resolve_ was the only casualty of the Golden Sun's task force.

Fall turned to the gleaners beside him. The Human called Kilo hit the manual override on the crane, sending it into a shaky folding motion as it slowly retracted against the slipstream. Licto and Renege held on to the cargo sled's various handholds as the craft suddenly turned, sending Kilo cursing against the retracted loading ramp along with the T-series droid, the only salvage that wasn't lashed down.

"Grab the control unit!" Renege shouted to the human, as he lunged forward to grab at the curved armor plate of the Hailfire's carapace. Suddenly Fall sensed them descending, which meant they had crested over the hill and were near as close to cover as they were going to get.

Kilo held onto the droid tank's hull as the _Toy Box_ slowed down. Fall saw the _Resolve_ more clearly now, it's bridge section sheared off, red with heat.

Soundlessly the _Resolve_ exploded. The _Toy Box_ was still slowing down, completely exposed now. With a flash the Gand's plan went completely wrong. Instead of crashing into the ground out of sight, the Resolve had become a scattergun blast encompassing the entire region. Fall was transfixed by the fiery airburst above him, massive streaks branching out like missiles, mostly to the west, but some debris clearly headed their way. Fire gave way to smoke, and smoke curled inward toward the center of the explosion. It was a strangely majestic sight.

A synthesized voice broke the silence, "Brace your-

Nearly a square kilometer of atmosphere had just been incinerated. Renege looked upon the explosion with a detached sense of dread, knowing what that meant. She could practically see the air implode into the vacuum created by thousands of metric tons worth of explosive decompression. As bulkheads on the Republic warship burst apart, Renege contracted every muscle in her body, plates of her exoskeleton clicking painfully into place as she made herself airtight. Lungs emptied of oxygen, the Givin prepared for the blast wave as Captain Baxta trilled a warning.

The blast wave tore up rocks and boulders everywhere, the shallow gorge protecting them from the worse of the windstorm. Baxta's cockpit protected him further, but the others were surely not as lucky. As dirt and dead brush swept into the _Toy-Box's_ hold, Baxta hoped Kilo was holding for dear life onto the Hailfire droid's control pod like it was his prized creation. Renege, he supposed, was making like a 700 pound bolder, probably the safest of them all. Hopefully she had remembered to hold on, lest the giant tumble onto the merchandise and crush it. Or worse, one of the other crew.

However, as suddenly as the blast wave started, all sound dissipated, and the air became still again. The _Toy Box_ rocked to and fro, the clattering of pebbles and splintered wood pinging against Baxta's canopy. Soon, there was peace.

Then he realized. The Resolve had not yet crashed.

Fall had one hand gripped tightly on the handhold, his armor probably sparing him many a bruise, his other arm held tightly over his exposed head. As the air around him settled down, he looked up at where the Resolve had been. It was still there. In thousands of pieces, of course, but it hadn't come down yet. A cloudburst of smoke and durasteel filled the sky. Again, it was spectacular. But by now, Fall was aware of what came next.

The first debris impacts came as dull thuds, reverberating even through the _Toy Box's_ immaterial repulsorlift field. Fall closed his eyes. If death came, it would come randomly, outside his control. If he lived, it would be a mere coincidence of destiny. After enduring several near-death experiences, Fall's survival instinct was spent for the day.

A minute passed until the tremors ceased. With a tweaking of valves, air slowly hissed into Renege's deprived respiratory system. Ozone and particulate scorched her lungs. Exoskeletal plates susurrated as muscles loosened their death grip on vaccum. Heavy eyelids now open, Renege looked to see Licto collapsed on his seat, meaty hand still gripped to the cable holding down the Hailfire missile pod. Eyestalks limp, the Gran seemed unconscious or dead. Joints cracked as Renege turned her head. Kilo was gasping for air against the Hailfire control unit, and Fall too seem unhurt as he laid there with one hand still on the sled's handholds.

Renege lifted her bulk up with more creaking of bones, shakily plodding over to Licto's limp body. He twitched, until suddenly the Gran coughed and sputtered, his three eyes flashing open and jerking from side to side. His limps flailed, and the large alien got himself sitting up against the wall with a noisy grunt. Licto looked up as if still expecting something to fall out of the sky. More gasping and coughing from all of them.

And just like that, Renege thought contently, they had all survived.

"Is everyone all right?" Baxta shouted loudly, "Sound off!"

"Present!" Kilo said. Licto grunted an affirmative. Fall said nothing.

"Everyone's alive, Captain," Renege shouted, "Bruised and battered, but alive."

"Good. Someone check the Separatist positions. Landscape's changed. We need to know if this is a secure LZ."

"I got it," Renege replied, knowing she was certainly the least injured of all of them. She reached down and clasped her heavy rifle on its mount, mag-clamps releasing as she clicked the carry-handle's release. As she effortlessly hefted the weapon with one hand, Renege vaulted with the other over the Toy-Box's open hull. She landed with a dusty thump. It took less than a minute for the Givin to reach the crest of the hill. Kilo had neglected to hand her his macros, but Renege reckoned ruin was plain enough to see at a distance.

Ruin indeed. Smoke and fire patchworked the valley. What was already a freshly created battlefield now had new citadels of mangled warship scattered for kilometers. That was to be expected. What was not, however, were the three Separatist landing craft dashed to pieces on the farmland. Only three of them.

Three more were still airborne.

Two were listing, one was billowing smoke, but they were very much in one piece. Renege took a closer look through the scope of her rifle. The ground troops, thankfully, were a mess. STAPS and Tri-fighters lay smoking on the fields, the legs of homing spider droids bent and broken, and more than a few AATs were overturned. But not all of the war machines lay still. Many battle droids were standing at attention, or rising from the ground in a daze. Much of the armor, such as the battering-ram-like MTTs, seemed undamaged.

Clearly, the C.I.S. force was far from broken.

Renege turned back toward the _Toy Box_. There was a segment of the assault ship that crashed less than three klicks from where they stopped. It was large enough to use as cover, and would make a good vantage point for pick-up. Noting it's position, Renege half-slid back down the hill.

Fall looked up from the sled's hold to see the Givin rush down the hill "Sir!" she said urgently as soon as within hearing range, "C.I.S. ground force is not destroyed. Heavy damage, but half of their landing craft are still airborne and most of their deployed troops are operational."

"Frotz," mumbled Kilo from below.

Licto had gotten out, and ambled towards the Givin, "What? How? If we got hit this bad…"

Fall spoke up, "Battle droids are more durable than they look. And as for the landing craft, those wings of theirs are basically giant stabilizers." He kept his voice steady. This was not good. "Yeah. If it's as you say, I don't think the Grand Army's going to just walk in there. The admiral will probably bombard them conventionally now."

Baxta spoke from the cockpit, "Kilo, eyes on space."

"Already calibrating. Yeah, we got… wait, what? The Indomitable's withdrawing!"

Fall turned his head down to where Kilo was, "We're retreating? Are you sure?" Fall suddenly became acutely aware he was in enemy territory. He remembered his training regarding privateers. Unless they had documents, mercenaries were not to be trusted. His hand went cautiously to his empty sidearm holster. Republic ties or not, they were still freelancers.

"Sure as spice, soldier boy. They're pulling out of there. Seppies in pursuit."

Kilo continued his report as Fall's mind raced. What were his options? He was a prisoner, but now they no longer had a use for him. In fact, he was a bullseye. His eyes glanced down at his own mud-stained white chestplate. He was an enemy combatant in the capture of individuals who needed to feign neutrality, whether they were secretly procuring for the Republic or not.

The human with the macros rambled on, "I see at least one Acclamator escort dead in space. Hey, uh, Fall Down, how many ships did you…" Fall made him move quickly. Kilo paused as he lowered the macros and regarded Fall, who suddenly had the gleaner's blaster out and pointed at him. Renege and Licto were looking ahead, unknowing of the clone's sudden hostility. Kilo put a hand to his now empty holster, looking surprised. Fall was afraid of this. In enemy territory, his only contact was with fringe elements. A part of him wanted to trust them. But procurement agents or not, Fall had no doubt they would dump their cargo at the first sign of official trouble. Or exchange a clone prisoner as a token of good faith. Fall wasn't going to let them get the drop on him again. He'd take his chances in the mountains. If the gleaners chased after him, they'd be putting their own hides at risk. He started to back towards the sled's rear, where only a meter of raised ramp wall stood between him and freedom. They were stationary, but far from the battle. If he could get them to leave him be, he'd be free to move.

And then what? Suddenly Fall began to doubt his own judgement.

"Everyone, be advised," Baxta spoke with authority now, his broken basic crisp and staccato, "This is no longer contested space. Observe all relevant protocols. We are in possession of contraband that makes us affiliated with Republic. Confederacy is now enemy. If we are taken prisoner, we will be summarily shot. Clone! You are guest. Remove your plates. Tri-fighter photoreceptors can lock onto armor reflections from thirty klicks. If that happens, we will be targeted. Kilo, keep scanning." Almost miraculously, Baxta had not turned his head.

Kilo, however, continued to glare at Fall, who in turn suddenly felt ridiculous, pistol still pointed at the gleaner. So that was it? They were just going to accept him as a liability? He lowered the pistol. Kilo shot him a confused scowl. Then suddenly, he scoffed and smirked, "Roger that Captain," the man nodded pointedly at Fall, "C'mon soldier boy. Get that plastic off, yeah?"

Fall could only shrug as he clicked the release on his left gauntlet, causing it to hinge itself open, fall off his arm, and clatter to the floor, "Plastoid, actually."

"Yeah, whatever. Mind if I…?" He held out a hand expectantly.

It looked to Fall like he was in this with them to the end. He handed the blaster back to its owner.

The man smirked, "You know, clone, you look a little uptight. Don't worry. You'll be back among your ugly buddies soon enough."

Fall sighed, "All right," he replied, unclasping the chest plate from his black thermal body glove, "Just get us out of here."

Baxta fretted. The Spoil was keeping its distance, surely. Confederacy fighters had come down from orbit to reinforce the ground forces below, and now had established a perimeter. Renege stepped up to the cockpit's side. Baxta flipped open the side window.

"Sir, it's a mess out there. But there's a piece of wreckage further in the hills that we could use as a stronghold."

"Affirmative. Polek has gone dark."

"The _Spoil's_ out there sir."

"Confederacy has expanded perimeter, and we can't break comm silence. Polek is being smart, I agree. And I agree that wreckage is best bet. If starfighters see us salvaging wreckage far from lines, they may register us as non-combatants on their network."

"It's worth a shot," Renege agreed.

Licto was within earshot, as was his right, "OK," the Gran began, "Engines check out. The _Box_ wasn't bumped up too badly."

"Good. Get on. We leave immediately."

The _Toy Box_ seemed to trundle even as it glided, it's speed slowed to a crawl across the uneven slopes of Paska Minor's terrain. Fall was now free of his distinctive white armor plates, now donning only his body suit and boots. After ten minutes of travel, Fall's nerves were beginning to fray. Why hadn't the gleaner's ship come to them? The clone craned his neck over the cockpit. A metallic hulk could be seen ahead of them. Fall knew instantly what it was.

The piece of the _Resolve's_ wreckage was twisted beyond recognition. Fall recognized it as part of the main hold, where the AT-TEs were stored. Sure enough, the leg of a walker lay mangled only a few hundred meters away from it. Other debris littered the hilly area. They were well concealed here, but this was as far as they could possibly go. The mountainside started here, steepening rapidly. If fact, the charred side of the mountain implied that this piece collided further up and rolled down to the foothills below. It was a good a landing zone as they were going to get.

In addition, they weren't even the first visitor.

Fall saw a ship tucked under an outcrop of the wreckage. A larger-than average light freighter. It had its cargo ramp open, an entrance large enough to accommodate the Toy Box. Was this the _Spoil_ the gleaner captain had contacted? Was this part of the plan? He felt naked without his blaster, but he supposed his rash act against Kilo justified that status. He'd put his trust in them now, and once again, Fall was in the AT-TE as it careened through the sky, hydraulic legs clawing at air, nothing to do but wait to see how it ended.

Baxta was relieved. The _Spoil 4_ had anticipated their movements. Polek was indeed savvy enough to lay low at the nearest secure position from where they were. Maybe she had the same thought they did. Droids could conceivably fire on noncombatants like scavengers, but only if recent data gave them reason to be particularly paranoid. Given that the Republic just dropped a cruiser on them, a damaged Tri-fighter might be so inclined. To a battle droid, everything was a potential hostile. Here, though, picking through Republic wreckage, most droids would be able to discern them as not a threat.

Jotup, the Duros that served as the _Spoil's_ navigator and gunner, was out in front of the lowered cargo ramp. As they approached, he waved them into the hold, and Baxta activated the sled's precision thrusters. Maneuvering the heavily laden craft into the _Spoil's_ hold was something he had done countless times, but never something he took for granted. Damaging their tools was not something they could afford. The _Toy Box_ was an archaic contraption, one that used parts not common on the open market. Still, she had survived an implosion wave, so Baxta supposed the old machine could survive a few errant bumps from rough parking. And they were in a hurry. Reversing thrust briskly, the rear of the cargo sled slid inside the Spoil's hold. As Baxta killed the thrusters, Jotup came in alongside. Baxta opened the cockpit's hatch and climbed out as soon as the _Spoil's_ docking clamp thrummed to life and magnetized the sled in place. He stopped as he looked out the ramp at the hillscape in front of them.

Jotup gave a brisk salute, "Polek is on the bridge sir. If we get any contacts, the engines are primed and ready."

Baxta waved a hand, "Very good. I want us airborne-" He paused as his eyes picked up movement behind Jotup and the landscape outside. Contacts indeed, "Clone, hide!"

Fall had just gotten off the cargo sled and ignored him. Jotup spun around to where he assumed his captain was looking, "Sir?"

Fall spoke evenly, "I see them."

"Hide, blast you!"

"Give me a weapon or shoot me." The clone shot back, "I'm not running from this fight."

Baxta growled a curse in his native language. This was not good.

"How did…" Jotub began before Baxta cut him off.

"We were careless," was all the Gand could say before he drew his blaster. He considered threatening Fall with it, but decided it was pointless anyway. The new contacts, flying too low to be seen on the _Spoil's_ scopes, quickly got close enough to be identified.

There were nearly a dozen STAPs, all manned by black-clad commando droids and one organic. Behind them, two droid starfighters gained altitude and shifted their orientation, forked stabilizers swinging into legs as they entered walker mode, hovering like massive insects on their repulsors. Droid starfighters, also known as Vulture droids, were equipped with hull-piercing explosive shells, reserved for ground targets. It was those launchers that were pointed at them as the droids touched down on the hillside in front of the gleaners. The STAPs were quick to create a semicircle in front of the fighters, slowing down as the organic raised his hand in a gesture to hold fire.

The lead STAP glided forward, the tiny craft's oversized blaster cannons pointed right at the ramp where Baxta and Jotup stood. Renege thumped heavily onto the deck, rifle in hand. Baxta saw that Jotup's sidearm was also out. Foolish gestures.

The organic on the STAP was a Twi-lek, tan skin with blue Separatist insignia emblazoned on his lekku head appendages, adorned in a drab blue naval officer's uniform and goggles. His mouth showed malice as he grinned toothily in their direction. A vibroblade jutted from his back, and the being's arm reached up and pulled the weapon from its sheath, other hand gripped tight on his craft's handlebar. He pointed the blade theatrically at Baxta.

"What treasures you've collected, scavenger scum," the Twi'lek said in a high, sardonic voice, "I do hope you were intending to return them. It's been a trying day, after all."

The Separatist officer stood tall on his STAP, blade long and glinting in the smoke-filtered sunlight. Baxta dropped his blaster and raised his hands as he stepped forward, "We are unaffiliated with any military…"

"Oh, spare me!" the alien said with an errant wave of his blade. It seemed he had not noticed Fall behind the two gleaners, "You're speaking to sub-viceroy Theopold the Younger. I command the Confederacy's ninety-fourth airborne brigade of the Techno Union's Helix division. Thus do I order you to surrender yourselves and your cargo to the Separatist Alliance."

In other words, Baxta thought, he was nobody. And likely, accountable to nobody. Particularly if he was some corporatist's son out to make a name for himself in this pointless war. The Gand's compound eyes allowed him to see Jotup raising his blaster to the ceiling. Renege, however, refused to yield, now in a prone position on the deck with her heavy rifle pointed right at Separatist formation. Baxta considered ordering her to stand down, but considering how the Separatists treated their clone prisoners, let alone common riff-raff like themselves, a standoff might be their best gambit. There were no rules for situations like this. And by the pompous performance of the young Separatist officer, Baxta wondered if shooting their way out of this wasn't their only option. If Polek could get on the chin guns, and they could close the ramp raised quickly enough, they at least stood a slight chance.

"Of course." Baxta's synthesized voice trilled, "We can come to arrangement." What arrangement that would be wasn't something he could think of. Fear gripped him as he vacillated. Should he order his crew to stand down? Maybe they would only impound his ship. Separatists were greedy, but not necessarily butchers. A motley crew of gleaners were hardly threats to C.I.S. forces, after all…

"There will be no arrangement, Gand!" Theopold said harshly, "I will have your ship. Either with…"

There was a crack as Renege fired her rifle square into the ovoid head of one of the droid starfighters behind the Twi'lek. The Vulture droid's control unit burst in a shower of sparks. Next to Baxta, Jotup brought his weapon to bear and fired a burst at Theopold's STAP. The sub-viceroy's head tails flailed as he jerked the craft into a spin to avoid Jotup's fire. The vibroblade flew out of his hand, and the officer quickly secured the handlebars to climb the STAP out of the gleaner's field of fire, "Kill them! Open-"

The officer was cut off as the _Spoil 4's_ chin guns blasted the other Vulture droid in the starboard stabilizers. The flimsy craft spun half around as its emergency repulsors engaged to keep if from toppling into the dirt. The _Spoil's_ next barrage hosed down two of the STAPs before the formation scattered. The Vulture droid, now missing two of its four landing legs, retracted its remaining appendages into the forked wing of its flight mode. The one-winged fighter engaged its thrusters. Without a polarized second stabilizer, however, this sent it spinning erratically into the hillside. The explosion and debris knocked a commando droid off one of the STAPs and scattered the rest. Not a single shot had been fired by the enemy as Jotup hit the _Spoil's_ manual override for the ramp. Hydraulics engaged and the ramp began to retract. Fall was crouched by the _Toy Box_ , watching the drama unfold. Even he looked surprised by the gleaner's quick efficiency.

Baxta laid down some pointless suppressing fire as the ramp closed and the remaining STAPs turned for a strafing run. The ramp closed just as they opened fire. Shots reverberated harmlessly as Jotup climbed hastily up the ladder that led to the living quarters. Baxta felt like he should give some order, but Kilo and Licto were already out of the _Toy Box_ , blasters out and running to other ladders. A tell-tale hum reverberated through the hull as the _Spoil's_ shields came online.

Baxta felt a twinge of pride as his crew rushed to their stations. They had been in tight spots before, but this one was perhaps the longest odds he'd been in. He had hesitated, but his crew didn't. They forced an enemy retreat without a single casualty. As Baxta motioned Fall to one of the ladders, he focused his gaze onto the _Toy Box_ and its cargo of C.I.S. ordinance. Not their most profitable run, but certainly their most eventful.

Fall clambered up the ladder into the _Spoil's_ living quarters as impacts reverberated through the hull. He'd seen the whole exchange, and still could barely believe it. These scavengers were no common low-lifes. They operated like a unit, coordinated and honed. Kilo popped up through another aperture and threw him a nod as he took a seat behind a Dejarik board and strapped himself in. Fall went with the flow, finding a seat by what appeared to be the ship's galley. It was strange feeling himself part of a squad that had his back, given the circumstances. As the Gand captain climbed up from the hold, Fall felt the ship lift off and fire its main engines.

Unarmed, cut off from the army, and in enemy territory, Fall wondered what his duty was in a situation like this. To get back, obviously. To find the nearest Republic outpost and get his ostensible allies to transport him there. His fate was not with them. It was in battle. Until his last breath.

There was no fate for him beyond that.

First mate Polek pulled the _Spoil_ up through the clouds as C.I.S starfighters began to converge on their position. The female Klatoonian engaged the thrusters to their maximum output. The _Spoil 4_ was fast, and built to take a pounding, but not to run blockades. This did not look good. If she had killed the Twi-lek commander, perhaps the Confederacy would be none the wiser. But they were pegged now.

A proximity alert light flashed on the console. They weren't military. Polek activated the identification scanners and pulled up the result on her main screen. Two ships, one of them damaged. The _Rapport_ and _Sunray_. Fellow gleaners. Another flashing light told her she was being hailed. Polek flicked on the intercom.

"This is Captain Jin'u'lap of the _Rapport_ to _Spoil 4_. Baxta, do you copy?"

"Pilot and first mate Polek here. I'm authorized to make decisions for the group."

"Good. We're joining you on your run. My ship was heavily damaged by the impact, and _Sunray_ is a converted yacht with no armor. Your shields are strongest. We've been waiting for you to take point. How copy?"

Polek scoffed. Well, if she was piloting a decrepit YT freighter such as the _Rapport_ she might wait as well, "I'll try to take your request as a compliment to our ship. Will take point. Let's roll."

"Affirmative."

The cabin door slid open and Captain Baxta strode in right as Jin'u'lap cut out. Perfect timing. Jotup was there too, and took his place quickly at the co-pilot's seat.

"Who was that?" Baxta warbled.

"Jin. Him and the Sunray are going to hang behind us as we run this thing. Orders?"

"No, that is good. Pursuit?"

"ETA five minutes. We caught them by surprise, but that skugg you scared off seems to have pull down there. Three full squadrons heading our way. I think we'll be in orbit by the time the Tri-fighters get to us, though."

"Let me know when we get in range of the blockade."

"Roger that." Polek could see the two gleaner ships on her scopes now, forming up behind her.

The veiwports glowed with friction as the Spoil gained altitude. Soon, the orange sky gave way to black. However, most of what twinkled were not stars. Polek increased the gain on the scanners to determine what had a power source and what was dead metal. There was a lot of dead metal.

The debris of four Acclamators and many more Confederacy war hulks floated before them. In the midst of this ruination were power signatures. Fourteen Geonosian corvettes, seven Munificent-class star frigates, and twenty Recusant light destroyers. Many smaller signals flashed on Polek's scopes. This was clearly no longer contested space.

A light flashed, "We are being hailed," Polek said to Baxta.

"Let Jin pick up. We're on bad terms with Confederacy."

"So much for the Seps being on the side of the working being," Jotup mused, "Mining guilds and tech unions against the Kuati and Seinar defense contractors," the Duros crossed his arms in a gesture of contempt, "There's a whole other side to this war that never gets looked at."

Polek scoffed, "We don't need your conspiracy theories today. Especially considering we have four Recusants turning to intercept. Three fighter wings…"

"Intensify forward shields." Baxta said.

"Kriff, right," Polek flipped a switch and checked her rear scopes. The _Rapport_ and _Sunray_ were holding steady behind them. The Tri fighters planet-side were being slowed down by the atmosphere, their corrugated profile not doing them any favors. The real problem was in front of them. the four light destroyers could be seen arranging their broadsides against them. This was not a blockade three ships could run through.

The intercom pinged, " _Rapport_ to _Spoil_ , this is Jin'u'lap. C.I.S. forces should be breaking off momentarily."

Polek checked the scopes. The destroyers were holding position, but the fighters were turning around. "What's this?" Jotup spoke up, "Clankers find something better to do than harass tramp freighters?"

Polek pinged her intercom again, "Jin, what did you do?"

"Most of my crew pays union dues for the Commerce Guild. Separatist movement's working class, after all. I accepted a censure from the Banking Clan, but it seems we're worth more to them out of impound. Let alone dead."

Baxta warbled something that could have been a laugh. He leaned forward to Polek's board and re-lit the comm, "My thanks, friend. Audits can be pain, but better than disintegration. I will buy drinks."

The captain of the _Rapport_ seemed to grunt, "You better. We lost out big time on this run. You?"

"Some luck and curse both," Baxta replied, "But we have haul."

"Don't fence it all in one place. _Rapport_ out."

Jotup raised his head in relief, "The Seppies treat us better than the Republic. I might have known. So that's it?"

Polek looked back at the scopes. Everything was clear. No fire came from the Separatist destroyers, "I think so," the Klatoonian sighed nasally, "By the stars, that was touch and go from minute one. Do'vey sent one Hutt of a parting gift…"

"Yeah," Jotup agreed, "Nice of him to toast the Nsyillin fields on his way out. Not like any refugees will need medical curatives or anything. Blast, that's practically a war crime."

"It is war crime," Baxta said, "But Senate will never know. Jedi can't keep military on leash anymore. This war is out of their control."

Polek braced herself for Jotup's practiced response, "The Jedi? The archaic order of monks dating back to the dawn of galactic civilization? You think they care either?"

"Mercy comes from Jedi whether you see it or not. I only trust beings to be themselves. Now plot course. I want out of this system now."

"Destination?" Polek queried.

"New Holstice," came the synthesized reply.

The pilot plugged in the coordinates with one hand, the other on the yoke as they cleared the Separatist perimeter, "Copy. Med run it is."


End file.
